Honour Killing
by Rose Midnight Moonlight Black
Summary: When Terry mysteriously falls ill while undercover, it falls to Damian to save him but he has to face a darkness he didn't realise he had - because choosing honour may just cost his brother his life in the end.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Own. Nothing. People.

* * *

><p><span>Honour Killing <span>

_Chapter one _

_Slight _

The boy's face was all to pale and sweaty when Damian ran a hand over it.

He was hot, far too hot and every breath shook his ribs, making him look weak, fragile. Damian wasn't an emotional man, pity wasn't a feeling he was intimate with nor one he cared to be, neither was sympathy. However seeing the younger man in pain evoked a tight feeling in his chest, made Damian want to ease the pain – if only to ease his own.

He hadn't even realised he'd become so close to the boy. But of course, training someone as intensely as the Bats did tended to secure emotional bonds, however reluctantly.

Terry coughed again, his whole body shuddering with exertion and Damian's lips tightened painfully. He wanted to hurt someone, he wanted to hurt someone more than what he usually did. He wanted to force someone to feel every ounce of pain that Terry did - because who had the right to do this? What man felt he was powerful enough to challenge Damian Al Ghul-Wayne by striking down his student, his _– No_ one!

No one could hurt Terry, except maybe him. But that was a completely different thing. So Damian was angry, very angry – whoever was responsible for this was going to pay for slighting his...family like this. He didn't do pity and other sickly, weak love emotions. He did do the relieving of that familiar rage curling in his stomach. Soon...soon...

"Can you fix him?" Damian's voice was calm; he removed his hands from his brother carefully, making sure his father didn't see. No need to make the man think he was getting soft in his old age. Not like Bruce was, anyway.

"No." The old man stepped around him, injecting more medicine. Terry whimpered beneath the fever but the restraints stopped him from thrashing around again.

"Why-"

"I can't isolate the compounds; either I get a sample of the poison or the antidote." Damian's fists clenched as the unsaid, 'You get them', hung around. He stopped taking orders from his father years ago, and he didn't like being controlled, by anyone. It was a trail both he and Terry shared in depth.

"How did he get like this?"

_How could you __**let**__ him get like this?_

Bruce shifted, his glare burning into his elder son's back – Damian refused to face him, knowing he'd end up hitting his father if he did. And that was normally Terry's role.

"He was undercover with the Fairweathers. Someone must have discovered him and slipped him something."

"You didn't have someone covering his back?" Damian's lips thinned; how senile was his father getting?

The reproach in his father's voice was enough to still any other thoughts, "There was no one else to put in, Damian. Not without risking their lives."

"Just Terry's." He muttered under his breath, not sure why he even cared. So what if he trained the boy? Terry was slow, thick-headed and too quick to fall for his baiting. He was almost unworthy of his time...except... except Damian knew there had to be something there. Something that had caught his father's eyes, something that against his will was making him consider the possibility that Terry could one day step into their father's cowl. If nothing else, the kid had potential, a lot of potential. Maybe one day, Damian might not balk at the idea of people knowing that they were, somewhat, related. Someday, but not today.

"Fairweathers?" he asks instead, turning around. He didn't look his father in the eyes but moved over to the computer, blocking out his student's broken cries.

His father followed, tapping the keys to bring up an image containing his targets. Three people dressed as socialites, decorated richly for the cool night time. Damian raises an eyebrow as he studied the one in the middle. He hadn't realized Terry would...clean up so nicely. If he hadn't been able to spot the similarities before, then now anyone could. He felt like he was look into the past, with his father staring back at him with those eyes. He swallowed and moved on.

To the left, a young red haired woman was half curled around his brother affectionately, her smile bight but seductive. Together, it only enhanced the resemblance to their father. Damian suddenly become very aware of his father's close presence and wondered if the man saw what he did, or if Bruce was cold enough to see nothing but two possible criminals and a young vigilante. The man on the right resembled his sister greatly, although he was a good few years older, his auburn hair already flecked with a few premature grey hairs. He was smiling but his eyes were rather solemn and grave and the grip around the wine glass was firm and stiff – a man constantly on his guard and who rarely let go of control. While his presence seemed light hearted, he didn't seem all that happy to be standing where he was.

"Let me guess, the girl fell for Terry and big brother didn't approve?" Damian moved back.

Bruce nodded, "Quiet eager to get into my graces, until his sister started to fall a little harder than he approved of."

Damian rolled his shoulders and causally began to loosen his arms, "Didn't want his sister marrying beneath herself?" He sneered lightly – if the man knew where Terry was going to be when Bruce died, he'd be throwing his sister at him. Gotham had been without a queen for so long after all...

Bruce glared disapprovingly, "I believe you've done the same yourself."

Damian turned away, "That was different. The girl was nothing more than a pretty distraction. He needed to concentrate on his job, not on his girlfriend's nagging. That had nothing to do with her worthiness -it wasn't going to last anyway." That was why he had convinced Terry to end it. Not because the girl wasn't worth him, which she wasn't. For an assistant, Dana was acceptable – but Mrs. Wayne? Damian would kill her himself if Terry was that foolish. There were far more reasonable women for his brother to fall for when the time was right.

He moved over to the changing area, pulling his own costume from his bag. He ignored his father's not so quiet snort of disbelief. He didn't care. Bruce had no more approved of the girl than he had.

"So, what is the Fairweathers connection?" He kicked his shoes off and stepped into his 'work' trousers.

"Distantly? The Thornes. They're relatively new, to Gotham anyhow, hence the interest in Terry." Ah, so it was both social and economical interest then. Socially being seen in the company of Terry and therefore Bruce would cement their place in the hierarchy of the elite while ensuring that the businessmen clambered to be involved in the Wayne apparent new investment. He finished zipping up his suit and move onto attaching his armour.

"Where and when?" Boots and then gloves, he fastened them tight.

"They should be at their apartment according to records. Although," he could tell that his father's eyes had shifted from the screen to him, he could feel it, "It's not impossible that they have unrecorded ways in and out of the building. Go for the girl first." Leaving the man for whatever she doesn't say. He had no problems with that. Damian's fingers brushed over his sword but he hesitated. Normally he didn't bring it with him; temptation for a quick and easier _solution_ was sometimes stressful in itself.

"How long?" he whispered, pulling the sword from the sheath, examining the way the light gleamed off of the razor sharp edge, pale blues eyes staring back. How easy, how quick to finish...

"Twelve hours minimum." Twelve hours, Bruce was giving him twelve hours to hunt down a cure before he couldn't guarantee what condition Terry would wake up in. Damian didn't ask how long until the boy wouldn't wake up at all.

He re-sheathed the sword and attached it to his hips. It was comfortably within grabbing range. Twelve hours would be more than enough.

* * *

><p>Hmmm, Damian seems mildly pissed off. Wonder who's going to get hurt first?<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Warning: Damian's a rought ruthless man, especially with those he has no patience for.

* * *

><p><span>Honour Killing <span>

Worth

The Fairweathers' lived in a penthouse apartment in one of the trendier apartment blocks. The building, having once been built and owned by Wayne-Powers Enterprise, was easily compromised. Swiftly he had access to digital copies of the building blue prints and was able to remotely manipulate the security feeds. Getting in was easy – he took the Batmobile (because the invisibility booster was a bit more advanced that his own) to the roof and entered the building through the skylight.

Why did people always forget to alarm the skylights?

The building was fully of the stylish metal and glass – in fact the whole apartment was made of metal and glass as if beckoning the whole of Gotham to come and have a look at their family and see how brilliant they were. Damian sneered beneath his helmet, he preferred the older styles of wood and metal – the style that the Manor still held and if he had his way, would always continue to boost in the futuristic world he found himself in. Terry might have called it retro.

Fingering his sword, Damian moved around the still apartment – after all it was night time, if they weren't painting the town red then they would be asleep most likely. If there wasn't more to the Fairweathers than distant Thorne blood, anyway. Damian hoped there was, because then Father wouldn't complain half as much than if he roughed up a civilian. Like it mattered at all.

10:15:35.

Plenty of time.

His eyes landed on a picture as he crossed their living room. It was a family portrait – an old man and woman, their adult son and young girl. Damian stared. There was more than a few years between Darien Fairweathers and Carlen Fairweathers, perhaps not as many as him and Terry but... Damian's finger traced the girl, a child's, face. He could understand, younger siblings never listened, not even when they were wrong and knew it. Terry never listened and Damian could have been his father. Terry never listened.

He let go of the picture. It shattered on the floor.

"Darien? Is that you?" A sleepy voice called from one of the bedrooms.

Damian turned and moved into the shadows, gripping his sword. One of the doors slid open and the young woman, little more than a teenager – like Terry – stepped into the room, pulling on her dressing robe. She was pretty, with longish red hair and a fair complexion in an old style sort of way – she could certainly look the part of Queen. But ruling Gotham was nothing to do with how you looked but how well you could play. Glancing around confused, she reached for the light switch.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Damian breathed in her ear, leaning close enough to smell the faint perfume she had been wearing earlier. The same one Terry had smelled of.

She screamed. And tried to run but Damian caught her before she could take a step. Still screaming, she fought back, trying to knock him off her. Not going to happen. Damian firmly took her wrists and slammed her into the wall, cutting the screaming off as the wind was forced from her lungs – she coughed. Anyone else would have pulled their punches, Damian didn't. What did he care if she bruised – she was lucky he didn't do worse. He slammed his fist into the area next to her face and she whimpered.

"Miss Carlen Fairweathers I presume?" He purred sarcastically as she squirmed around, trying to get free. "Stop that; it won't help you."

"Let me go, please," She begged, "If you want money, it's in the safe, the code is –"  
>Damian laughed, low, dark and harsh – she shivered and wilted, "I'm not interested in your money, girl, I want information." He growled.<p>

Her eyes were like a kicked puppy; scared, confused and completely innocent. Desperate. She stared at him, at his masked face – the red helmet that she didn't recognize, not as a hero, not as a criminal but as something that was most likely going to haunt her for the rest of her life. She didn't recognize him, but she was never going to forget. He smirked, the only part of his face the helmet didn't cover. She blinked doe like. "What information?" she asked hopefully.

"Like who tried to kill your little sweetheart McGinnis." Damian pushed a lock of her red hair out of her face and she flinched. Oh, Damian knew exactly what she was thinking – she was terrified but that was the point. She didn't know what he was going to do. He could do anything – anything at all. He already hurt her, the marks on her wrists and arms were most likely going to bruise badly. Damian was not uncomfortable teasing her into letting her imagination run wild and dark. Not at all.

"Terry? No one tried to kill him –" Her eyes were blank.

"Oh no? Why's he tied up in bed dying of a fever then – someone poisoned him, at your little party earlier, Carlen. Why don't you tell me about it?" He whispered softly into her ear, close enough to feel her shrink back into the wall and try to turn away.

"I don't know what you're talking about! Y-you can't do this, my brother will be here any minute –" She snapped with false bravado.

"Hm, really? Well I only need a second to kill you, so we have plenty of time. Then I'll have a nice chat with your brother." He grabbed her chin and tilted her head, forcing her to look him in the eyes. She was horrified and scared and lying. Good. He wanted her to know she couldn't lie to him.

"Now, Carlen, I'm going to ask, nicely, one last time and if you don't answer my question informatively I'm afraid I'm going to have to hurt you –and this," He tightened his grip, applying enough pressure to make her grimace, "is nothing compared to what I'll do, understand?"

She nodded, tears starting to spring into her eyes. She bit her lip, which was trembling as she started to lose her composure. Instead of feeling sorry, all it did was make Damian disgusted. What a pathetic woman, to whimper and cry at a little discomfort and an idle threat. No, as pretty as Carlen Fairweathers was she was not worthy of his brother – not worthy of Gotham. She was worth nothing.

"Stop crying." He snapped and she trembled beneath his grasp. He moved close, his lips on her ear, "Now tell me about Terry and the party." He whispered softly.

"I-I-I...H-he was fine when he left. W-we were going to meet up at the charity ball next week. I didn't see anything, I swear, I didn't even know he was sick!" She cried, barely keeping the tears under control as the shaking got worse. Damian moved back a little, and a little of the tension leaked out of her.

"Good. Now, did you see anything strange, anything different to what it should have been?"

The girl blinked back some tears and thought about it, "I – no, I don't think so. I meant, nothing – nothing stands out. My brother, well, he got me and Terry a drink, champagne, the really nice expensive kind. He doesn't really spend time with Terry. Terry didn't want to drink it but – but I teased him into it," She started to cry, the realization that she might possibly have had a part in it was too much for the small thing. Damian grimaced and leant back as the sob got louder and messier. Disgusting really.

Somehow he doubted this little pretty pot plant was really behind this.

"Are you sure? Terry never touched, or drank, or ate anything else left unattended all night?" he pushed, nudging the girl a little.

"_N-no_, Terry wouldn't eat anything, he never does. He's so paranoid about that sort of stuff." Carlen gasped her face red and her eyes puffy.

"Clearly it's a well justified paranoia." And well learned from the amount of times Damian had slipped him something, "And you're sure your brother is behind it?"

Carlen stared at him, confused and bewilderment, "No, it can't be. Darien wouldn't hurt anyone, let alone Terry – he didn't know something was in it. Maybe it was meant for someone else."

Damian rolled his eyes and growled, "Really? I somehow don't think so, Carlen; I think your brother just tried and just might succeed in murdering your boyfriend. Congrats." He muttered sarcastically, enjoying the way the little colour left in her face drained out. No, Terry wasn't going to die. Damian sure as hell wasn't going to let him die from such a rookie mistake – at least not before Damian had a chance to knock him around for being so stupid as to let a girl influence him. Terry, thick headed, honestly.

"Where is your brother?" Carlen only shook her head. "I said," he grabbed her chin again, harder this time, "Where is your brother? Don't make me ask again and don't lie to me. My warning stands."

She opened her mouth but no words can out. Damian didn't need words; he could see it in her eyes. She was scared – for herself, for her brother; she didn't want to tell him but wanted him gone, she was confused and angry at her brother but still loyal. Any another time, Damian might have been impressed but right now that misplaced family loyalty was standing between him and the man who he wanted to beat to a pulp, between him and helping Terry. That was not a nice place to be.

He twisted her wrist.

"AHHHHH," her back arched and she bit down making her lip bleed, surprised. Such a wimp, that was nothing compared to what he could do to her and her brother. What he still might.

"Last chance – WHERE IS HE?" He slammed her against the wall again, his grip bruising. Carlen whimpered, closing her eyes in fear.

Gasping and crying Carlen made her choice, "Work. He'll be at the office. He always works late." She looked down, in pain and ashamed.

That was all Damian needed. He stepped backward, releasing her. Unsuspecting Carlen collapsed to the ground clutching her wrists as he stood over her.

"Go back to bed, leave this to me. If you interfere, I'll come back and I'll not be as gentle next time. Trust me, you'll not enjoy it."

Then he was gone. Leaving her kneeling on the floor, red faced, terrified and crying with bruises all over her arms. She waited; breathing heavily as if she had ran a marathon. She waited and watched and thought – she considered what had just happened, what the man had made her realize, what he had threatened to do. She waited until she was sure he was gone, and then she sealed her fate.

She wiped the tears away, picked up the telephone and dialled. "Darien, you wouldn't believe what happened – there was this man. He broke into the penthouse and ..."

* * *

><p>So... Bad Damian?<p> 


End file.
